Pumpkin Pie
by writersz cramp
Summary: A year after the War has officially ended, Hermione Granger went to Azkaban to visit her childhood--she's still in love with him--love. Will he realize her feelings for him, or will Hermione's love be in vain? One-shot; Complete


**Hi guys! Dear readers, I'm so glad you've taken your time to read my work!! :) I can't tell you how happy I am. I was trying to get a happy ending for Hermione and Draco, but the story just came that way, and I didn't want to change it. XD ("LIES!" yelled the story Hermione) Anyway, hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, hypothetically, I would have let Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, and Fred Weasley stay alive, kill off Voldemort and his henchmen in the first book, and married Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy. Now, since all of that did not happen, we can safely say Harry Potter is safely out of my hands. Thank you.**

*****  
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She took a deep breath and stepped into the horribly bright room. The interrogation room at Azkaban was lit with Muggle fluorescent light. Her eyes stung and watered, unaccustomed to the unwavering, naked glare. She turned and nodded to the burly guard standing by the door. He dipped his head and said gruffly, 'You've got an hour, Miss Granger.' With that, he backed out of the room and closed the door with a soft click.

Hermione Granger let her eyes rove around the cramped, rectangular room, landing on various objects, but not really seeing them. She couldn't bring herself to look at the hunched figure sitting at the table in the middle of the room, _just not yet_. Merlin knows what would she do when she let herself look at _him_. Him, as in Draco Malfoy. An accident when they were in seventh year and he was stuck in her damn mind for the rest of her life. Even when he was openly Death Eater, even when the Daily Prophet had his black-and-white face staring up every day on the front page like Sirius's had, even when he got caught and had been sentenced to Azkaban for life, she had not forgotten Draco Malfoy, she had still loved him with all she had.

Don't ask Hermione why she loved him. It only took one glance—it wasn't even a friendly glance! from Malfoy, a few confused months and finally a grave realization, for Hermione to accept that she was in love with _Draco sodding Malfoy_. Love was one thing that Hermione Granger didn't want to know about, and had no desire of finding out why one can lose hours of sleep, countless meals when it concerns the object of one's affection.

She eased herself onto the wooden chair, placed her paper bag she was holding carefully onto the table and rested her hands on it. She was well aware of the scrutinizing gaze of his, burning two smoking holes into her forehead, but she just couldn't look at him. _Just not yet_. She clasped and unclasped her hands for a bit and worried her lower lip. She really should have spoken by now. She pursed her lips together then opened her mouth.

'So what do you want, Granger? As much as I enjoyed seeing your little nervous performance over there, I would appreciate it if you could spit whatever righteous crap you've been practicing the whole night and get the hell out of my sight,' Her mouth snapped shut and she inwardly winced at his harsh words. Did he have to be so bitter? She slowly dragged her head up.

Settling her gaze on a spot above his left shoulder—she still couldn't bring herself to look at him directly—she began. 'I came to see how you're coping,' she felt, rather than saw, his eyebrows raising in disbelief and flushed. 'Like, no offense, of course I could see it's no rose garden, compared to what you had before…' She was babbling, and she stirred the direction of the conversation back to her main topic. Malfoy still hadn't move an eyelash. 'I—I also came to say sorry that we couldn't do anything else to save you from—' Here, her throat tightened; she couldn't bring herself to say it. Imprisonment. Punishment. Azkaban for life. No. She didn't want to face it yet. She settled with a vague '—this. I'm really sorry.' She'd dropped her eyes back onto her clasped hand a while into her speech, and now she focused on her hands, slightly shredding at the edge of her paper bag.

'Well, Granger,' Her heart skipped irregularly at his smooth, strong voice; even after all these years, her mind still remembered this voice. 'Apology not accepted, in case you want to know. Who are you to say sorry to me, who are you to say you have the power and right to, I quote, "save me from this"? I know what I'm in right now, and I don't need you to feel sorry for me.' He said it in a light voice, like they couldn't be talking anything more than the weather. He laughed, a dry cackle that made Hermione wince. 'I don't need Harry Potter and his friends to get itty-bitty Malfoy out of trouble. I know I deserved this, and let's not talk about me, Granger.'

Hermione couldn't believe her ears, but Malfoy had more to say.

'And how about you, Miss Hermione Granger? Having a nice job at the Ministry? Your Gringotts account brimming with gold?' He mocked relentlessly. 'Oh, maybe you're happily married to some bloke you met… Ron Weasley? Viktor Krum, perhaps? Ah, no, I see no ring on your hand, Granger. Or it is because of some kind of fashion that married people don't wear their rings these day, hmm? I sure did miss a lot, spending all these time in Azkaban.'

The insult pierced her straight to the heart. How was he to know it was all because of _him _that Hermione didn't have a "rock on her finger", as all her friends put it? How was he to know that Hermione thought of him every single moment in her life, wanting, fantasizing, him to be the one to put that ring on her finger? Why couldn't he just leave her alone for one second, and stop hating her?

Hermione raised her head furiously. 'You—'

Flashing brown eyes met faded grey-blue ones.

Hermione faltered, seeing him in flesh clearly for the first time since they graduated from Hogwarts. How he had changed! He had grown, physically and mentally, leaving no trace of the seventeen-year-old boy Hermione had first come to care. His eyes were sunken and lifeless, deep shadows resting above his sharp, jutting-out cheek bones. However, he still held himself in the familiar superior way in his drab prisoner clothes, his scarred fingers drumming the table like he hadn't a care in the world.

_You're so pale,_ Hermione realized suddenly, stifling the urge to stroke his face. He would probably hex her into the next decade, given if he had his wand. S_o pale and fragile already, and he had been in the prison for only two months. What would happen to him ten years after he'd been in there?_ Hermione didn't dare to think; she stopped that thought halfway, but the damage had been done.

'Like what you see there?' The careless tilt was back in his voice, and she knew he was done belittling her with his words. She looked away, disgruntled and embarrassed at the fact that she had been caught in the act. 'I know I'm special and all, but when a...' He coughed delicately, and Hermione, knowing what he wanted to say, suddenly hated him for that. Hated how he still acted like he was better than anyone, like nothing had changed. To herself, she knew she hated him for not changing, when she had been through an epic emotion turmoil regarding him, although he really couldn't have known what kind of impact he had on her. '…_Muggleborn_ stares at me like she hasn't eaten breakfast, a bloke feels scared, you know.' He stared at his rough fingernails, the action now just a mere shadow of his past. 'And as I said, your apology is not accepted and you can go now.' He raised an amused glance to see her hair covering her face. He cocked his head as if he was waiting for her to deliver a sharp, cold retort and storm away.

But Hermione couldn't feel rage like she would if she hated him; pity and love for the man sitting arrogantly in front of her made her eyes well up in tears. She kept her head down and unclenched her hands slowly, willing herself to think of other things. Pleasant things. When she looked up at him, her eyes were dry and when she spoke, she was glad it was devoid of any trembles that gave away her feelings.

'Before I go, let me give you something to eat first. And don't you dare to not eat it!' She added fiercely at his opened mouth. He snapped it shut and glowered at her darkly. Thinking for a second, she said, 'You know what, you should eat it in front of me, so I'll know you've eaten it.' She pulled a plate of something out of the plastic bag and pushed it across the table to Malfoy. It was a plate of—'Pie?' he asked in bewilderment.

Despite of current circumstances, Hermione let a small smirk flit across her lips. 'Yeah. In fact, it's pumpkin pie. And a house elf made it.' She didn't know why did she added it was elf-made, because it clearly wasn't--the prove of it was still visible (Her hands were burnt and left a faint scar on her wrist) but Draco only raised an eyebrow questioningly and didn't dwell on the subject.

'Sorry to pierce your bubble, but no way am I eating in front of you, Hermione Granger. And what makes you think I even _want_ a pumpkin pie?' But he eyed the brown, crispy crust in a way that Hermione knew he wanted it. Badly. She smirked in a knowing way.

She charmed two buttons off Malfoy's garb and transfigured them into forks, ignoring his outrageous 'What the hell?' She then proceeded to divide the pie into small pieces (with her wand, lest he started spewing profanities about tainting his edibles with her touch) and stabbed a portion with her fork. To show it's not poisonous and he wouldn't worry his royal ass about being poisoned by a certain witch.

He reached over and rapped her knuckles with the other fork smartly. He leaned back to watch as she dropped the fork and the piece immediately back onto the plate with a loud clatter, mumbling a choice swearword she often heard from Ron. He smirked snidely. 'My pie, mine only. Get your bloody hands off it.' He picked up his fork and spun it in an expert way.

Hermione watched as he devoured the whole pie in a matter of minutes. He was starving! Lord knows what they fed prisoners in Azkaban. He didn't even mention the possibility of poisoning him in the food, which Hermione knew distinctly that was what he would say, in normal circumstances.

She waited till he scraped off the last remaining crumb on the plate then stood up, her chair scraping at the floor with an ear-shattering screech. He looked curiously on at her abrupt movement and licked his fork solemnly, bringing any stray crumbs into his mouth. Keeping her eyes averted, Hermione said lightly, 'So that's that, Malfoy, have a good day.' Trying not to look at him was harder than said, obviously. Her eyes kept trying to slide to Malfoy, to stare at him good one last time before she left, to stamp his face into her memory with everlasting ink.

But Hermione wouldn't let herself look at Malfoy, at his familiar smirk and face. She would leave dignified and cold, with no feelings whatsoever showing. She turned her back at the table.

Malfoy didn't get up from his chair. '_Ciao_, Hermione Granger, and I'm sure glad I won't be seeing your _face _anywhere on the streets forever!' He said in that same light voice, falsely sweet in her ears.

Hermione, reaching for the door handle, was disgusted and heartbroken at the same time. At that point, she clearly understand what it means by 'Love you, hate you'. It was really possible to love and hate a person at the same time. _He couldn't have known,_ she consoled herself. _He couldn't have known you've been waiting for this moment forever, the minute you got permission to see Draco Malfoy in Azkaban for the last time before he's lost in the despaired maze of the prison. He couldn't have known you've loved him ever since seventh year, yearned for him during the War, mourned for him secretly as you followed his progress from the Daily Prophet. He couldn't have known the pain you've been through, hiding your utmost secret from your dear friends, pasting on a cheerful face as Harry, Ron, Ginny and the rest of the Order celebrated the triumph of the fall of couldn't have known the despair of knowing that Draco Malfoy, the most faithful of Death Eaters, was to be sentenced for life in Azkaban. He couldn't have known, he couldn't, Hermione.  
_

She gripped the polished handle tightly, staring dimly at her contorted reflection in her hand. She couldn't feel anger, couldn't feel despair, _she couldn't feel nothing._

'Have a good day, and enjoy your life, Malfoy. You can keep my plate if you want, to remind you of the outside world and your favourite pie. Goodbye.' Her voice broke at the farewell she bit out.

With that, she twisted the handle viciously and threw open the door, startling the guard outside. 'Miss Granger—' The man began uncertainly, but Hermione didn't hear him, nor did she see him. She shot out of the room as quickly as she could, away from the room, away from the remnants of the pumpkin pie she had made all by herself, away from Draco. Her eyes were clouded over with tears and she was barely out of earshot before her whole body started shaking with sobs. She stumbled down the dark corridors of Azkaban blindly until she could no longer hold in her screams of despair and frustration, and beat her fists on the solid, unyielding wall, not caring if the mold and other unspeakable filth got stuck between her fingernails and palms.

She choked as a fresh torrent of tears came up and collapsed against the wall. What was more cruel than loving a man that does not reciprocate your feelings, and get him ripped away from you forever?

**Heh. I hope you guys won't feel like Hermione in any moment of your lives. One-way love is a terrible, terrible thing indeed. Now... you know what to do! ;) **

**Review!!!  
**


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